Gift of God
by The Most Glorious
Summary: Jack Harkness has a past, but growing attached is never good for the man who can never die.
1. I

**Gift of God**

(I found this on my memrory stick, so thought it deserved its time to shine. I own nothing, and mean no disrespect to anyone. I wrote this while on my Torchwood bender, in which I managed to read around twenty of their books? I hope you enjoy. Sorry if any of my statements aren't exactly exact, other than that, review review review! )

One / Prologue

_It was 1949_ and Captain Jack Harkness stood on the corner of a terraced street in Grangetown, waiting for something. _Someone._He stood certain, hands pushed deep into the pockets of his preened greatcoat, navy eyes staring patiently ahead of him. He'd been stood there for a good half an hour, Gladys Bevan from number 92 had watched all from behind her twitchy curtain since she'd heard and felt the rumbling of a sleek black beast of a vehicle rolling up. Medwyn, her sympathetic husband, numbed with years of his wives intrusive and controlling behaviour, gave a grunt from the sofa. It was dark outside but that hadn't stopped her sticking her pointed beak between the blinds to find some new gossip for the ladies tomorrow. He'd learnt to be quiet and besides a few coughs and murmured 'yes's' he had nothing more to say to her.

Jack glanced down at his wrist readout and then back up, nodding his head slightly as he saw a figure walking towards him, having appeared from the turn off at the top of the road. Alice Smyth scuffed her way down the path back to the home she'd been evading for so many years. Her younger brother and erratic mother had lived there happily in her absence until a freak accident had called an end to everything; now she was back to pick up the pieces.

Stopping in the middle of the road, Alice caught Jack's eye and both considered one another as though they weren't strangers and in fact old friends meeting after a long time apart. Looking away first, Alice glanced at the floor nonchalantly and continued to walk. She'd seen him before, that much was obvious. You didn't get many people around here that looked and dressed like that – an officer, frozen in time.

'What?' she asked, still looking down as she made it onto the path, 'Can I help you?' but as Alice glanced to her left she was greeted by nothing more than empty space and the back of a man walking away. 'Hey!' abandoning the last few steps to her house, Alice shot along the curb and after Jack like he'd fled with her handbag. 'Oi! I- oh.'

Jack swivelled around on the path to look at her, his coat swishing around his heels like some spectacular superhero. They surveyed one another again. 'Sorry.' Alice finally breathed, breathless from the sprint which had brought her around the corner and halfway up the road which moved off towards a children's play park. 'I saw you at mam's funeral – were you following me? Because I've had enough of-'

'So you _are_ the daughter.' Jack mused, a slight smirk pulling at his handsome features, his eyes taking her in again, fully. Yes, this was definitely the daughter; they held the same stance, the heart shaped face and the full, almond eyes. 'Y'know you _really_need to work on you manners–'

'Who are you.' She didn't sound curious or afraid, more fed up and tired. Sleep deprived. He could see the bags under her eyes, greying, aging the beautiful face. Bag hanging off her left shoulder he watched as she left it there, eyes searching his for an answer, but Jack had turned to look away, staring into the distance as thoughts ran through his mind. 'Are you ok? You're not a mental patient are you? You can never tell.' Her laugh brought him back from his reverie, it was sweet and musical.

Reaching into his back pocket, Jack fumbled for something and it set the young girl on edge as she took a few steps backwards. Alice Smyth was no older than nineteen, give or take, but her strong heart-shaped face and sculpted chin took away any false impressions that she was a child. You could always tell how aged someone was by looking into their eyes and Jack's were too full of loss, knowledge and longing for something so impossible to reach, that if you looked close enough you'd find fault with his seemingly normal being and begin to again, if you looked at anything long enough you could always find fault with it. But what person today stared at anything for longer than a second before moving on without delay. People today had become so frozen and selfish that they took things as they were, minus hesitation; why question reality?

For all they knew, this was all there was to the world and they'd go on thinking and being like that, never to know the _real_truth behind life which Torchwood tried so hard to hide.

Pulling a silver chain out of his back pocket he thumbed it in his palm, rolling the locket over and over, examining it. Alice's eyes ignited with interest instantly and without thinking she reached out to touch it, but his fingers closed over the item, denying her. 'You recognise it, huh?' as though she'd given the reaction he'd wanted, he smiled.

'What are you doing with that?' her eyes slipped into a determined stare as she moved closer. 'Tell me who you are.' His blank expression forced a final appeal. '_Please_.'

Putting his arm out before him, Jack let the chain slip into her smaller hands where she cradled it slowly.

'Come find me when you're old enough.' He told her, but her eyes stayed transfixed on the necklace as she opened the little clasp of the locket to reveal a photo of a red haired woman on the left side and a cheeky-looking coalminer on the other, dust and dirt flecking his cheeks. Her parents stared back at her with glinting eyes.

'I don't understand.' Alice sighed, looking back up to see Jack had vanished again.

Back in the car, Jacks palms hammered against the steering wheel in frustration. Things hadn't meant to go like this and now everything was spiralling down the wrong path. But for not the first time, pride and emotion had spiked his decisions and it was too late to turn things back. Too late for _them_ – Jack would _always_ have an eternity to repeat those mistakes and try to change them, just not with those that mattered to him right now. In all of his life, Jack had helplessly remembered everyone; all the bad memories, the wrong answers, the broken hearts, they were the ones he fought to keep away. When you had forever to breathe and do, you couldn't get hung up. Sometimes, though, he broke down, that small human act, and this was one of those times. He wouldn't go back to the tower for a while, he needed some time to himself, atop of one of the fine buildings creating Cardiff would do the job perfectly.

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><p>Alice didn't see Jack around a lot after that, and it began to seem like her imagination and working late nights had taken toll on her sanity. It was only a few weeks later, after hours of thinking of her Peter-Pan-in-a-greatcoat that she decided to take action. Jack had been leant against one of the giant oak trees in the cemetery as they buried her mother that summer, though why he hadn't come to stand with the rest of them had always worried her. Niamh Smyth had split with her husband Harry, an English traveller, forced into coalmining, when Alice and her brother Eamonn had been eleven and seven. After that, she'd quit her job at her sister-in-laws hairdressers and cut all ties with her husband's side of the family, leaving her work options very scarce. Until one day, a handsome American Soldier had come up to her with a conditional offer that involved a secret organisation christened Torchwood. That's where Jack had surfaced from and now Alice finally understood what she needed to do. If he was thinking of recruiting her too, he had another thing coming, because her life, like her mother's, was not going to be taken by that place.<p>

One night, when Niamh had first gone to work, Alice and Eamonn had thought she was sneaking out to whore – Alice, more than the unsuspecting Eamonn - somewhere around the Bay, and so had snuck out to bring her back. A little role reversal; if she was going to sneak out to work without telling her children where she would be, when she would back, and who would take care of them, then she would be treated like a child.

She followed the path she had taken that very night – though then it had taken her to a dead end outside the Oval Basin in a part of Cardiff that she knew nothing about, Alice had been stranded and none the wiser as to where her mother had disappeared to. Then, stood facing the building, Alice had waited, as if expecting Niamh to see her, run out and greet her and tell her everything she wanted to know. Instead, it had started to rain and Alice had galloped home with a crying Eamonn faltering and tumbling in every puddle.

Outside the building now, she stared straight ahead of her, taking deep, steadying breaths. Inside, Jack watched her on the monitor, how oblivious and naïve she was to it all. Was he really going to do this? Eyes still on the screen, he could see her lips move, though her body remained stock still as she determined herself to stay just there. Eyes flickering around uncertainly, she moved forward a little, stepping on each slab as though it were a trap door. The tower shone before her and for the first time in weeks she finally took the chance to look at herself. Raising a hand to her face, she traced along her sharp jaw before looking down at herself. Somehow, in such a short space of time, she'd grown up. Suddenly Alice was ready for whatever awaited her. If only she could find the bloody way in…

Pushing himself away from his desk, Jack vanished from the hub, reappearing on the rising slab above the ground to see Alice fingering the locket now around her neck. He stayed there for a few seconds, simply debating whether to greet her or see if she would resign and send herself back home, like she had done so many years before - both times, unknowing to the eyes inside watching her.

Stepping forward to investigate more possible entrances, Alice gave a cry of shock and involuntarily grabbed at her heart as Jack stepped from the slab into view, as if he had just materialized out of thin air. He eyed her for a couple of seconds, expression unresponsive.

'I told you to come back when you were old enough.' Jack repeated his earlier statement. Was that disappointment in his eyes, or was he toying with her? Alice couldn't tell.

'I'm ready.' She assured him calmly.

'And you're gonna have to get better nerves than that if you wanna work for me.' A small smirk crept across his face but Alice simply continued to stare at him. 'Do you even reckon you can cut it – have you even _any_idea what you're up against?' slowly, he thumbed the blister pack of retcon in his pocket.

They stared one another down until Alice finally extended her hand to him with a stiff smile. 'Found my way here, didn't I? And you still haven't told me your name.' she prompted him as he led her over to the curb and onto the platform. As she moved, he saw her shirt shift against her, to reveal a small handgun tucked at the side of her belt. Something she had taken from her mother, he mused, unsure if he should be worried or impressed that she'd come prepared. So she wasn't as gullible as he had first made her out to be; maybe he shouldn't have questioned her capability to take care of herself after all. Without even thinking, Jack let his hand slip from the blister pack and down by his side.

Gripping onto his arm as the concrete moved, Alice glanced up at him, trying to keep the shock from creeping onto her face. As they sunk deeper and deeper, she let her hand fall from his forearm and glanced around her, mouth open in awe.

'Impressive, huh?' His grin had grown and he eventually returned the hand shake. 'Captain Jack Harkness.' If needs be he'd slip a retcon into her drink and leave her to make her own way home, but for the moment, Jack Harkness had decided to give her the benefit of the doubt – something that _never_ happened. After all, there was a spot to be filled, and he'd struck a deal with Niamh. Not that Alice needed to know about that. There'd come a time.


	2. II

_Two  
>21st Century. Present Day<em>

Mackenzie Foster grinned as the curvy blonde let him feel her up as they both leant against the bar. Tonight was going to be the night! He could sense it, he really could. And it wouldn't be like the last time when the brunette had gone to the toilet and had him done for harassment when he'd followed her. She'd been giving him all the winks and nods, so, as any teenager pumped up on five larger's would, he'd gone after her, a Johnny tucked happily in his back pocket. Five minutes later he'd returned with a blackening eye and his pants around his ankles in an attempt to scarper away.

Slipping his hand along her thigh he gave her neck a sloppy kiss, grinning as she grabbed his hand. This was it, his first bit of action! Instead of granting her access up her skirt though, blonde Rosie Harwin shoved it abruptly away and slapped his face.

'What d'ya think you're bloody playing at!' she snapped, 'I've no idea what you think you're doing, pal, but I thought you'd get the idea I wasn't interested and piss off, alright?'

As she stared at him with pitying blue eyes, Mackenzie grinned when they grew wider, more shocked. Maybe she'd fallen for his dashingly good looks after all. But instead she was shifting back from him, reaching behind to grab her friend's wrist. Confused Mackenzie swung around on his chair to see a dark haired man stood in the centre of the room, chin tinged with stubble, suited and booted in black Armani. Besides him stood a tall blonde woman, curls down to her shoulders, dressed up in army boots and tight jeans; she looked like an image every boy wanted to find in their cheap porn magazines. Craning his neck Mackenzie tried his best to sneak a look at her perk backside but instantly sat erect when he saw a pistol sticking out from beneath the stranger's jacket. He wasn't drunk enough to start hallucinating yet, and almost choking on his own spit the Welsh teenager shot out of the restaurant with his dick limp between his legs.

'Leaving the party so soon?' The stranger pouted for a few seconds before spotting Rosie. The young girl was almost on the edge of her seat, unsure if she wanted to run away from the scene or towards him. 51st Century musk, worked like a charm. Giving her a quick wink he outstretched a hand, pulling her instantly to his chest as she accepted - _how could she not? _'How about we have some fun?' pressing his hand into the small of her back, he arched her body against him with a growl of satisfaction. Unable to help herself Rosie burst into a fit of giggles, her cheeks reddening.

'Sir?' a meek voice behind him coughed, trying to be heard. Attempting to be listened to, a tentative hand reached out to touch the back of the Armani jacket but recoiled instantly. 'Sir, if you could please leave…' In a flash, the jacket spun around and as the waiter choked on his words, a pistol was pointed towards his sweaty forehead.

'Is there a problem? No one here is complaining.' Gasping for words, ('you're scaring the customers,' was barely whispered) the waiter went down with one shot, blood instantly seeping through his crisp, white shirt. Alice dropped onto her knees with a groan of distress.

'You didn't say you were going to shoot anyone! You could have killed him!' Taking the handkerchief out of the man's top pocket, she pressed it against the wound, wincing as the blood seeped out faster, covering her hands.

'Oh, didn't I? My mistake.' Firing the pistol again the bullet shattered against the man's temple, sending a spray of blood across Alice's face. Screaming in shock, she fell back onto her haunches, staring at her blooded hands in disbelief, wiping at her face with her palms. Everyone in the restaurant had backed away, sprinting out of the glass doors as he shot another round of bullets off, smashing bottles and splitting holes in the floral upholstery of the armchairs. 'No one's any fun anymore!' he yelled, throwing his arms up into the air before turning back around to stare at Alice. Pushing her hair away from her face, she'd streaked blood through her yellow curls, big eyes staring up at him in terror.

'What are you doing?' she whispered, eyes flaring as he backed closer towards the door. 'Nathaniel? We need to get him to a hospital!'

'I've got to go, darling, but remember our plan.' With an air kiss he was stood in the doorway, one of the glass doors swinging back and forth in the wind.

In one of the corners a table had been upturned by the sudden surge of people and the small, vanilla scented candles had slipped, igniting the table cloth instantly, spreading like a wild fire across the room. With one last shot Narthaniel smashed one of the vodka bottles behind the bar which instantly washed over the counter, promptly doubling the fire as it licked hungrily at the alcohol.

* * *

><p>Toshiko Sato watched the screens that surrounded her desk, magnifying the sudden spike that had jolted against the formerly calm rift monitor. First of all she'd thought it to be some kind of blip; things had been quiet for so long now that it didn't seem worth tearing everyone from their other business just to inspect something so insignificant. The spike was continuous, had been for the last twenty minutes, coming from a restaurant on the Bay. Across from her, at his work station, Owen Harper was hammering away on some computer game he'd found, twisting and firing with a foreign remote. She smiled weakly in his direction, instantly looking away as he noticed the attention.<p>

'Everything alright, Tosh?' he asked, pushing the remote aside with a grunt of frustration.

Lost,_ again_. Good thing he was better in the real world, he thought with a grimace, or Cardiff really would be in shit. OK, so he wasn't a pro at computer games, but he could tell a dead body from a live one – and not _any _body either; aliens. He was getting pretty good at Weevils, knew more about them than anyone else at the Hub. Then again, everyone else had their own things to be dealing with, which made Owen wonder if he had too much free time after all. Gwen had a life with Rhys, and Jack and Ianto were always engrossed in one another, with their little innuendoes and flirtatious winks. Toshiko was married to her numbers; mathematics held more safety, security and certainty than any man ever could. Maybe he could take her out for a drink sometime, loosen her up.

Making his way around his workstation, Owen lent against Toshiko's desk, squinting at the screen and all the squiggly lines.

'There's been some activity over at The Ocean, I've been observing it for the last twenty minutes, and it's stayed constant. No climax – no fluctuation at all. Whatever it is, it's just… there.'

'So, something's come through the rift and stopped off for a quick meal?' chuckling to himself, Owen looked up to see Jack walking along the overhead railings, hands stuffed in his pockets.

Toshiko shook her head, ignoring his joke and tapping on her screen to get more readings. A CCTV image flashed up and as Jack came to stand behind the both of them, they watched the footage play out.

'Where's this from, Tosh?' Jack asked.

Turning up the volume on the side, Toshiko let the images pan out across all three screens above their heads. 'The Ocean restaurant on the Bay. Rift activities peaking, so I hacked into the CCTV database to see if anything unusual was happening.' The sound of a fire engine filled the Hub, startling Owen who glanced behind him as though the vehicle would come barging into the room. 'Seems there's been a fire…' slowly, she reduced the speed at which the video played, zooming in and rotating the camera to try and get a better look. Everything was clouded by smoke, the back wall of beer pumps smashing and hissing, adding to the explosion.

'Some sort of fire creature?' Jack suggested, leaning back and glancing at Owen who seemed none the wiser.

'Jack?' Toshiko's voice wavered and he turned his gaze back to the screen. A tall, dark haired man came into view, piercing russet eyes staring directly at where Jack stood. The image gave Toshiko goosebumps and she rubbed her arm involuntarily.

'Captain Jack Harkness.' The image on the screen spoke. A voice so deep and strong, intimidation and threat hit them like a slap in the face. 'That _is_ what they're calling you now, isn't it? You're a very hard man to keep track of-' The vision blurred and fizzed before focusing again. 'I've no doubt you'll see this message before anyone else does, so I've just one thing to say to you.' There was a pause and Jack reached over, about to tap that screen, worried it had frozen. _It couldn't be him_… the image started to move again. '**Run**.' He sneered. 'Run! For _her_ life, Jack, not yours.' As the man moved out of view all three of them leaned in closer, trying to understand who he could be on about. Jack was pretty sure he'd stopped breathing.

'Who?' Owen asked, but he was shushed as the CCTV changed angle, and they could just make out the shape of a woman lying unconscious on the ground, blonde hair spilling around her head. Then the footage cut out, and for a moment no one said anything. They were all waiting for Jack to speak, but his eyes were still transfixed on the screen, disbelieving.

'Jack?'

'I've got to go-'

'_We've_ got to go.' Owen corrected him, nodding towards Tosh who stood from her desk. She was usually the one to stay back at the Hub or sitting in SUV, directing everyone with her PDA. With Gwen at home and Ianto out, she felt only obliged to go along. This wasn't some alien parasite, but a human's life at stake and it set something in her stomach into a fit of fear. The way that man's eyes had pierced through the screen still scarred the back of her eyelids.

'Who was he?' she found herself asking, the same question Owen had been waiting to solve.

Jack was no good at talking about his past, and for all they knew, he might as well not have one at all. It was like he'd just been placed on this earth in that worn greatcoat and that suave smile. No one asked. Supposedly it didn't matter where he had come from, if he _really_ was Captain Jack and what was so special about _The Doctor_. All that mattered was that he cared for them – he had saved them all from something at some point, and they too had returned the favour, doing as he asked, when he asked, without being told why or what would repercussion because of the act. Captain Jack Harkness was their boss and they trusted him, but sometimes the not knowing got too much. He knew all about them - everything! As if his head held files and files of information on them, some futuristic police computer system. He was a worn soldier, and even if he wouldn't always admit it, he needed them; Gwen, Ianto, Toshiko and petulant Owen.

All three of them headed to the SUV without a word, Jack jumping in the driver's seat, Toshiko in the back with all her technical equipment and Owen in the front, grappling for the seatbelt as Jack swung out of the underground car park.

* * *

><p><em>dumdeeeeeee, not sure if i liked it. hope you did, feedback is appreciated so much!<em>


	3. III

**Big BIG thanks to all of my reviewers, you mean so much to me, I hope you continue to like what I write! Sorry for taking it up/down/sideways/back down again so many times, seems to be a little tempermental.**

* * *

><p>Alice Smyth hadn't planned on dying like this, in such a <em>normal<em> way. This happened all the time, people forgot after a while, when the burnt wood was carted away and a new, shinier model was placed over the destroyed concrete. Some heroic feat would have been better, like everyone else probably imagined for themselves – dying in an act of heroism, in greatness. Anything was better than being found as an unidentifiable mass on the floor of a tacky restaurant. The smoke had slithered up her nose, gripped her nostrils and pulled all the life from her brain. Why wasn't she fighting it?

* * *

><p><em>Two days ago.<em>

Nathaniel was laughing, that dirty, throaty laugh, suggesting too much alcohol and not enough food. The fresh are should have dampened his spirits, a bitter wind cutting at their cheeks, but the adrenaline from their last job had sent him racing and suddenly his arms were around Alice's middle, swinging her into the air. It wasn't a love filled gesture, and the touch was a little rougher, the hold too tight; he held her like she was his trophy, his winnings for completing a difficult task. Spinning her, he ignored her protests and continued to laugh, a sound she was getting tired of hearing. It wouldn't have been so bad if it was genuine, if it made his eyes light up with happiness, but a sickness stirred in the pit of her stomach when she saw the malice flash across his handsome features. Nathaniel Miller was the kind of man that could drown a puppy and find pleasure in its yelps.

'Get off –'

'That was so fucking good –'

Bored of her fighting, Nathaniel practically chucked Alice away from him.

Straightening her top, she smoothed the edges down, only to then lunge at him. The punch was pathetic, to his chest, hardly enough to wind him, but all the same he tried to snag her wrist, something threatening crossing his face. She didn't fight him – nobody did, not if you wanted your bones and brains intact. She wasn't afraid, it was just easier, and right now Alice was tired. Tired of all his bullshit.

'You asshole!'

'Woah, Princess, what's your problem?'

'_Princess?_' she breathed, incredulous. 'You never said you were going to _kill _anyone! You didn't have to do that – she had a kid! She was fucking nineteen!'

_The little boy had stared up at her from the hallway, where his mother had obviously left him when she'd gone to answer the door. He couldn't have been more than three, but a slash of blood tarnished his beautiful, innocent face where the bullet had ripped straight through his mother and out the other side. It would have been easier if he'd cried, bawled his green eyes out, tortured her with the painful sound, but instead he sat and watched Alice with interest._

'You're right.'

For a moment Alice thought he'd seen sense, but lack of sleep had deprived her of reality and that cruel smirk was back on his face again.

'I should have done the kid too; wonder how many years of therapy that will cost him?'

There was that laugh again, when suddenly his head snapped sideways and it wasn't until he felt the sting that Nathaniel realised Alice had slapped him. They stared at one another, the only sound around them their heavy breathing. The apartment was warm and it had started to make Alice a little sleepy and agitated, wanting nothing more than to go to bed. Gawain was probably in the kitchen, staying away from what he knew would become a fight. It always happened, because Nathaniel always did what he shouldn't, and she was foolish enough to push him, as though it would take back the wrong.

'Nathaniel –'

His hand was around her throat in an instant, her body slamming against the back wall. A picture beside her head shook and slanted onto its side, making the running waterfall look more like a lake. Pressing hard against her throat, Nathaniel felt the bones of her collar beneath the pads of his fingers and forced enough pressure to break. A breath of air left her lips and he let go, though not enough to release the pain. A simple warning.

He was used to this, the power, the rush it gave him, the satisfaction as they bowed to him. You could make anyone do anything you wanted as long as you tried hard enough, pressed the blade hard enough, pulled the trigger fast enough and washed the blood quick enough.

Something in him couldn't quite defeat her – didn't _want _to – because he lived for this, and as long as Alice was by his side he'd forever be fulfilled, the animal inside him would calm for at least a while. She kept him in line, to an extent, brought him back from the edge. Alice was the one there to bring the man off the ledge when Nathaniel pushed him, to take the explosive from the bank, to wipe the blood from the handle as they left a massacred family.

They weren't hit-men, murderers, con-men, warriors. They never pretended to be what they weren't, although Alice was beginning to wonder who she even was anymore. They just lived, supported one another because it was what they were good at.

Her hand slid down the small of his back, her eyes flickering up towards his. He had looked almost excited, like she'd finally come to her senses after all. Then Alice's hand settled on the out-dated firearm tucked in the waistband of his jeans and he tensed. He could snap her neck in an instant, and she knew that.

'Let go, or God have mercy I'll shoot you in the ass.'

Sliding her finger against the trigger, she prepared to cock it back. The hand around her throat tightened, bringing her off the floor a little. Shifting, Nathaniel pressed his hips against hers, forcing her to arch against him. The pulse in her neck quickened and he relished in the feeling when something beside him moved and a thick, welsh accent spoke with firm authority.

'That's enough, Nathaniel.'

Gawain Isaacs stood in the doorway, and although he'd been inside for most of the morning he was still wearing his coat, the collar turned up against his neck. Aged almost majestically, he stood strong with faded brown hair combed to one side and could easily pass for a man ten-years younger than his own fifty-three. A business man through and through, retired with enough money in the bank to last him until he was a hundred, Gawain's was a man of refinement. Native masks decked the walls of his penthouse apartment, and numerous tanks brimmed with the kind of tropical fish you'd find in dark, undiscovered caves rather than those the aquarium might deem fit to showcase.

A dull click sounded around them and Nathaniel dropped Alice. She'd pulled the trigger but the last magazine had been emptied earlier that day.

_She'd actually shot him, would have, too. How dare she._

'Leave us.' Gawain rumbled, an underlying demand that Nathaniel couldn't disobey. Once Nathaniel had reluctantly left, Gawain moved towards Alice but she hung her head.

'Dont –'

'You don't have to do this, Alice. Nathaniel, he – he lives for it, but it's not_ in_ you, its not in your blood.'

Straightening her shoulders, she tried to ignore the feeling that stirred in her stomach as she realised she agreed. 'I can handle myself.'

* * *

><p><em>Present Day<em>

'Why won't you tell us who it is exactly that we're going to save?' Owen asked dejectedly, slipping a fresh magazine into his gun. 'If we're going to risk our asses in some fire, I'd like to know who I'm dying for –'

'You're not going anywhere.' Jack muttered turning a corner, groaning to see there was hardly anywhere to stop the car. Bloody tourists, he sighed inaudibly. 'Just stay in the SUV with Tosh, and keep the engine running, I won't be long.'

Once again they were left out of his business, untrusted and confided in. Glancing behind him, Owen raised an eyebrow at Toshiko in a what's-the-bloody-point way and she simply shrugged sympathetically back. What had they expected? This _was _Jack they were talking about.

They soon reached the Bay and they could see the fire engine parked outside the restaurant, a crowd of people around it trying to peer in, one or two of them with smoke-smeared faces. A static police car with its door ajar waited beside it, a blonde haired girl wrapped in a red ambulance blanket in the passenger's seat.

As Jack got out of the SUV, Owen waited a couple of minutes before following suit, ignoring Toshiko who called weakly after him. Looking back at the computer on the little pull out table before her, she glanced back at the rift chart and a fresh peak which had sparked in the centre of Cardiff. Zooming in on the map, she searched for closer coordinates after a glimpse out of the window to see Jack and Owen bending under the police restriction tape.

'I told you to stay in the car.' Jack's tone was almost threatening, but he didn't register the doctor besides him, instead continuing ahead.

Andy Davidson, one of Gwen's old friends from the police force stopped him before he could go any closer. The strong smell of smoke wrapped its way around his nostrils and burnt at his eyes, ash floating in the air caught on the shoulders of his jacket.

'Torchwood: let us through.' Jack flashed a badge at Andy but the officer was determined not to let him pass.

'The Police can handle this – it was a freak accident, none of that hokey-pokey you lot look for.'

The animosity he held for all things Torchwood hung very apparent in his tone. Gwen had been a great partner – possibly something else once upon a time, if she hadn't gone off with that flipping Rhys and self-opinionated Jack Harkness. Suddenly she felt she was above everything, just like Torchwood thought they were above the bloody law! What good was the law if anybody could walk in, flash a badge and do as they wished to the crime scenes? Did anyone even know _where_ Torchwood was situated or _what _they did? Aliens and sewer creatures they could have, but this, this was a normal accident – maybe a tax scan – but it was something the police could handle alone. Did years of practise mean nothing anymore?

Moving forward, Owen gave Andy a sideways look and both knew the man would have to crumble and let them past. 'Come on, mate. We're just doing our job.'

'Yeah? And I'm just doing mine –' Just as Andy had discovered a bout of gusto, Jack and Owen had grown bored and pushed past.

Leaving Jack, Owen moved towards the police car and the blonde, who shrunk back into herself as he advanced.

'Alright, love?' He offered a small smile, moving around her and to the other side where he clambered into the driver's seat. Taking ID out of his pocket he showed it to her, but she didn't seem in the slightest bit interested. Shifting in her seat, she stuck her legs under the dashboard and flicked the heater on. 'Mind if I ask you a few questions?'

His voice was tentative, practical for the case. She'd had a great shock – he could see a cut across her face, and tears kept welling in her eyes. It was like being back at the Hospital again and treating a trauma victim who wouldn't let themselves be examined. They were frozen, paralysed with emptiness, confusion.

'What's your name, darling?' Owen didn't have any paper, but the little PDA in his hand could quickly send information back to Toshiko in the SUV.

The blonde turned to look at him and sighed, exhaling slowly. 'Rosie Harwin. You're not with the police are you?' smiling slightly, she shrugged her shoulders. 'It's alright, I don't mind. I'd rather be here than back home, Mam's gonna have a right paddy. I'm not supposed to be out tonight.'

'Oh yeah?' Owen grinned at her, sorry that she'd had to be caught up in all this. He'd rather have been out on the town than at a crime scene, too. 'Date, was it?' he took in her sleek black dress and smartly coiffured blonde bob. Catching his wandering eye, she shrugged again, meekly.

'My friend, Casey, wanted me to find someone. Actually…' stopping herself, Rosie shook her head furiously, instantly starting to stutter.

Owen knew she was about to say something she shouldn't, and he needed her to tell him what that was. This wasn't just about a random bloke at the bar, he could tell it was something worse than that. Young and somewhat innocent, she'd gone out to have a great time and somehow found herself at the mercy of… of whoever it was that had lit up the screens back at the hub. Such piercing eyes, so... _unnatural._

'Do you know how the fire started, Rosie?'

As she looked back up at him and caught his eyes, her own said it all. Nodding slowly, she ran a shaky hand through her hair and began to tell him everything about the Armani stranger.


	4. IV

Jack Harkness stood as close as he could to the blazing building, watching as the firemen weighed up the situation and decided if it was safe enough to go in. Without thinking he stepped towards one of them, ignoring the man's arm pressing against his chest to keep him away. He was short and stocky, his face flushed red from the heat of the flames, his dull blue eyes watering at the intensity. Probably the oldest, most experienced – the most tired of everyone here. He'd probably seen a million fires like this, used to having people prying their way towards the scene, putting themselves in danger.

'Have you got anybody out?' Jacks's voice was suddenly desperate and frightened. 'My niece was in there!' an easy enough lie. Why did it matter _how_ he knew her, as long as they knew she was in there.

He wasn't necessarily going to wait for them to pull her from the wreckage, but he'd give them a chance, another few seconds before he went in himself. Jack wanted in and to get her out, away from the rest of the team. No doubt Tosh would do a search once they'd matched the girls image to that on her records, and they'd realise she wasn't just a normal bystander caught up in some freak accident.

_Accident._ Nathaniel had known what he was doing, but why?

_Why now?_

It had been so long since Jack had seen those eyes, those curved lips; he could already feel the past trying to drag him down. He shook his head.

'We're doing the best we can, Sir, if you could just step back behind the yellow tape.'

A giant cracking sound wailed and wood panelling splintered as the roof fractured and split. 'Sir! Behind the tape! Now!' running off towards the fire engine, the fireman wound the hose out as far as it would go. Voices shouted from every man standing, orders being barked left and right to try and gain control of the situation.

Something in Jack only saw the image of the man from the CCTV and without a word he chucked off his greatcoat and headed towards the restaurant, now a crazed inferno.

* * *

><p>'Owen, what do you expect me to find? Armani jacket and dark hair – that classes most businessmen within Cardiff's perimeter!' Toshiko breathed, exasperated. She didn't like not being able to help, but how far was she going to go with that analysis? 'I've picked something else up around Wendlebys. There's just been a sudden spike – where's Jack? I don't know how long we've got until it moves again.'<p>

'This is just one man, Tosh. If we can't catch him, what good are we? Maybe he just wants a new suit.' He added with a chuckle. Nodding his head towards Rosie, Owen slipped out of the car and glanced around. Where _was _Jack?

'He just ran towards the building! Does he have a bloody death wish?'

'He won't last, the roofs about to give way! We'll be blamed for this. Bleeding Police can't keep control of the crowd.'

Moving over towards the two firemen, Owen bobbed his head as one of them turned to face him. Faces contorted in frustration, he could see they were fighting with themselves, holding the fire hose in a firm grip, waiting to tackle the building. How were they going to do their job if people were in there? How did that man even know that someone was in there, surely everyone had escaped, and as if to confirm this, the man glanced over his shoulder at the people straining against the safety line.

Smeared faces, tear stained cheeks, eyes full of interest and fear.

'Alright, mate? What's going on?'

'You with the ambulance, are you? Some bloke just ran straight for it, left his coat on the floor down there. Reckon he wanted to play the hero.' He shook his head with a grimace. 'Never works out. Such a waste – hey, where are you going?'

Owen moved further towards the scene, squinting through the smoke and flying debris. Jack couldn't die, sure, but what the hell would this do to him? If that roof collapsed, how would they even get him out? Then having to explain how he was walking the next week would cause a bit of a problem. But it seemed Captain Jack Harkness had acquired a knack of getting out of even the most trickiest situations.

Suddenly a man passed him, helmet on, visor down, the fireman headed straight towards the building without a moment's hesitation. If he stopped, thought about it, then the fear would strike and they were running out of time. They needed the people out before the fire really did get out of hand. This man was taller, strongly built, muscled, strong jaw and determined eyes.

'Get back, sir. We're handling this.'

Owen didn't listen, only moving when one of the men pulled him back determinedly. The taller man charged towards the fire, another behind him. Owen watched with wide eyes, unsure if he should be frightened for them, or if he should tell them Jack would handle it. Didn't he always? A gust of smoke blew each window out in quick succession, the glass flying out towards the crowd, scratching faces, falling to the floor with jingles and clinks. The thick, black smoke roared up into the sky, covering everything within its reach. Louder now, they could hear the fire inside, roaring, hungry, wanting to take its feed on the two people inside.

The two firemen had been knocked off their feet, one of them with a sickeningly large shard of glass in his right leg.

In his element, Owen instantly turned into Dr Owen Harper, experienced SHO, and barged past anyone who got in his way. 'We need two stretchers, quick –'

'This is one for the ambulance, mate –' one of the men tried, but as Owen looked up, his eyes held such a ferocity it made the fireman take a step back.

'Trust me, I'm a doctor.'

* * *

><p>'Tosh, are you there?'<p>

Pressing a finger to her earpiece as she heard Ianto Jones' voice come through, Toshiko nodded her head and she tried to scrabble into the front seat of the SUV.

'I'm here, Ianto. Is everything alright?' There was a slight pause and she could hear a crackling sound, like something was scrambling the intercoms. 'Ianto?'

'There's been a shooting outside a coffee shop in town.' Another crackle and a hiss, like a radio trying to find the right frequency. 'I thought it was just a regular job for the Police, but then I saw something strange.' He sounded almost breathless and Toshiko figured he'd been running along with the other shoppers. 'It was near Wendlebys. I was going to get a new shirt for work – the last one got Weevil blood on it, impossible to get out you know –'

'Ianto…'

'Sorry. Anyway, one minute he wasn't there, and then he was. This man just appeared out of thin air, stole a suit and shot the shop assistant who tried to stop him. Then he just vanished.'

* * *

><p>Smoke wasn't something Jack was a fan of. It was alright when it flowed around the foot of the stage and sexy men and women swayed through it, miming to famous songs, but not as fun when it was thick, heavy and blinding, followed up with growling flames. Now that he was inside the building it hadn't seemed like such a good idea. Hell, when had it <em>ever<em> been a good idea?

Fear if he didn't find Alice he'd never find out what Nathaniel was doing back here struck him, and kept him going on.

The lumpy armchairs were charred black, the fire racing along the back of the restaurant, licking at the bar and cracking the mirrored wall behind. Everything was stained, burning, peeling, his feet hardly visible through the dense clouds. Something soft hit his foot and for a moment Jack thought he'd found her, but bending and reaching out he felt the sopping corpse of the waiter and knew he was wrong.

Throwing his arm up to cover his face, Jack continued forward, treading cautiously, the sound of smashing glass evident even over the crackling fire.

Something in him wouldn't call out her name, worried that if no reply came he'd begin to believe it was all a dream - when _had_he last dreamt? And if a voice did cry, it would send him back into the past, leaving the smoke to render him unconscious and the blaze to kill him over and over until someone found his seared remains.

And then there she was, rolled onto her side behind an upturned table.

The flames seemed to stay at the back of the building, skating along the edge of the walls and up towards the ceiling, but the floor appeared only misted with smoke. Feeling his lungs threatening to close, Jack coughed into his arm, his eyes losing focus as consciousness threatened to slip away. He knew the ground would be clearer, he could crawl easily towards her, but time wasn't on his side and he wanted to get out as soon as possible.

Scooping up the body, Jack shifted her in his arms, turning around to leave when a beam in the ceiling fractured and dropped before him. A cloud of smoke erupted in his face, there was no other option but to turn and go back the other way. There had to be a back exit – wasn't that some rule that building agents had for emergencies? How ironic, he scoffed.

And maybe it was his imagination, the fire and the smoke playing with his mind, but the locket that hung around Alice's neck, dipped down the valley of her breasts seemed to be throbbing. Not her, as her chest rose and fell – which it did very weakly, slowly – but the actual metal locket throbbed like a beating heart, emitting its own heat which burnt at his face. There was a yell behind him, he could hear the people outside screaming and crying, and over everything the sound of Owen Harper ordering people around.


End file.
